A Maze of Wonder

It’s a string. Love. Strong, but can be unraveled. Or cut or sliced in an instant.

But it is the common thread. And that’s what you feel — being together. If, for a moment (or for years or decades).

It’s the one line you trust. That reached out and made the initial connection. That formed. And was confirmed. When she looked back into your eyes and said to herself, “Yes.”

And your mind went blank and tried to catch up (and may be still trying).

It was the first row hoed in your garden. And that’s the mystery. For many do not make it through every season. A few do.

And you might wonder what distracted you from tending to that Springtime freshness. The attention to affectionate detail you promised her, and — as importantly — yourself. That you could really keep it going.

What happened, man?

You could have imagined it being a string. Focused on the fact that it’s worth holding onto: between two fingers, forever. And have faith that it wouldn’t break because it’s not a rope.

They give you a rope to hang yourself. Strings are the music makers of orchestras.

It’s a line. It gives and pulls tight. It is elegant. It’s what the spider weaves in a maze of wonder.

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